“Don’t thank me yet.” She climbed out of bed, the sheet trailing behind her like a toga. “I still have to find my bra, which I’m pretty sure you threw somewhere across the living room last night.”
“Check under the couch.”
I found her missing bra (under the coffee table, actually) and helped zip up her dress, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck that made her shiver.
“I’d offer you breakfast, but...” I gestured vaguely toward the door, where my parents would soon be arriving. I pulled her in for one more kiss.
The buzzer from the lobby interrupted us. My parents, fifteen minutes early as usual.
“Shit,” I muttered, pulling away reluctantly. “They’re here.”
Mari’s eyes widened. “What do we do? I’m not climbing down the fire escape.”
“That’s good, because there is no fire escape. But there are stairs. They won’t see you if you take them.”
“Where?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
The buzzer sounded again.
“Go answer it,” Mari said, pushing me toward the intercom. “I can find the stairs. Just point me in the right direction.”
“Down the hall to the left, past the trash chute. It’s the gray door that’s marked.” I hesitated, reluctant to let her go like this. “Mari, about last night?—”
“Don’t get cliché, Gable,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Go deal with your parents, and good luck.”
I watched her hurry down the hallway, her heels in her hand, dress slightly wrinkled, hair still mussed. She looked back once, giving me a small wave and a smile that made my heart ache.
She disappeared around a corner, and the world darkened.
I buzzed my parents up, using the brief wait to straighten my clothing and run a hand through my hair. I should have showered, changed, prepared somehow, but there hadn’t been time.
The sharp knock came moments later. My father’s knock.
I opened the door to find them standing there, looking exactly as they always did. Perfectly groomed, expensively dressed, and radiating disapproval.
“Hudson,” my mother said, air-kissing my cheek. “You look... rested.”
The slight pause was deliberate. I ignored it.
“Welcome to Chicago.” I stepped back to let them enter.
My father surveyed the apartment. “Interesting choice of decor.”
“I’ve only been here for six months.”
“Seven,” my mother corrected.
“I’m just glad the building has excellent security.” I leaned against the nearest wall.
“We noticed,” my mother said, placing her purse on a nearby table. “Though the doorman was easily persuaded to let us up without calling you first last night. A security concern, I’d say.”
I bit back a sigh. It was going to be a long breakfast.
“I’ll make coffee,” I said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “And I ordered pastries from the bakery down the street. They should be delivered shortly.”
“You didn’t make anything yourself?” My mother raised an eyebrow.
